Body Check: Post 4-

Chapter Three: Post-Coital Day

Darcy checks in with her best friend as Hayden’s driving across Chicago to meet her father at a Warriors game. (You can see where that’s going, right?) And she insists on knowing “How many?” How many what? Well, orgasms. You always demand to know how many orgasms your best friend had during her most recent one night stand, right? Of course you do! The answer is “Five,” and Darcy is shocked.

“Five!” Darcy went silent for a moment.  Then she offered an awe-laced obscenity. “You’re telling me the hunk gave you five orgasms last night?” (32 emphasis original).

What I don’t understand about her surprise is that the narrative flat out told us that Darcy has emailed Hayden in the past to tell her that she had seven orgasms in one night. In the battle of the orgasms, Darcy is still winning. It’s not like she thought women being multi-orgasmic was a myth, given she has personally experienced a seven-climax night.

During Darcy’s interrogation of Hayden, we also learn that in the morning (after the wake-up sex), Brody wanted Hayden’s number but she refused to give it to him (although she did accept his.) Of course, it’s not like he doesn’t know where she’s staying.

When Darcy criticizes Doug (the off-again boyfriend back in California) again, Hayden takes time out to admit that “maybe his comparison of sex to a bridge was bizarre” (32). I mention this only because a few sentences later we get the following:

And somehow the words sleeping with Brody seemed unsuitable, as if they described a bland, mundane event like tea with a grandparent (33 emphasis original).

Methinks bringing up grandparents in the same sentence as sex with the super hunk is a mistake, even if you’re using it as a contrast. Also, the closeness of these sentiments makes me wonder if the author is entirely comfortable with her own use of analogies/descriptions.

At any rate, Hayden spends the rest of her drive to the arena wondering if she’d made the right choice to keep the sex no strings attached and lamenting the fact that she now has to spend the night “watching sweaty men skating after a black disk” (35). (Considering that as I write this I’m waiting for a ride to go watch prospects scrimmage, because I’m that desperate for hockey, I don’t sympathize with poor Ms Hayden. Of course, Hayden’s distaste for the sport when we as readers know the man she’s falling for (and she is falling for him because this is a Harlequin) is one of those “sweaty men” is simply dramatic irony.)